


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by ragdoll



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Antagonism, Detention, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, Horny Teenagers, Mutually Unrequited, Quidditch, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragdoll/pseuds/ragdoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charlie Weasley accuses Nymphadora Tonks of cheating during a Quidditch game, he has no idea of what he's about to set in motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Interhouse_Fest 2014. The prompt was:
> 
> "I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."  
> —John Watson (from _Sherlock_ )
> 
> My prompter said they weren't necessarily looking for pairing fic, and could see this one being fun as a 'bromance', a rivalry, or a good old fashioned arch-enemies" but when I saw the prompt, it kind of screamed UST disguised as a rivalry or at least animosity, and it kind of wrote itself. I apologize profusely for Charlie's stupidity – he's a 16 year old boy after all – and where his mind begins to wander to. Since my prompter said she didn't want anything too explicit, I'm saving him all sorts of embarrassment by omitting some of the other far more lurid and interesting fantasies he was distracted by.

"You were haversacking!"* Charlie Weasley shouted, pushing his face closer towards Tonks'. "Just admit it!"

Tonks stamped her foot, her cheeks flushed with anger. "I was not! You're just a bloody great sore loser, Charlie Weasley!"

"You were too," Charlie continued, ignoring the urging of his fellow Gryffindor team mates to let things alone, and go back to their locker room. "You lot should never have won this game!"

"Why? Because we're not _Gryffindors_?" Tonks' words dripped venom, and her mouth twisted as she said them. 

"You know we're the better team!"

"Piss off, Weasley! You're being a big baby because you weren't good enough to beat us!"

"You cheated! I saw your hand on the Quaffle!"

"Well, then get your eyes tested, Weasel-boy. That goal was clean!"

"Ha! You're a liar. You cheated — that's the only way you Hufflepuffs could ever manage to win a game, and you know it!"

"You take that back!" _Crack!_ Before Charlie could make any further accusations, Tonks' fist smashed into the middle of his face, knocking him backward. He landed arse first on the pitch, pain exploding behind his eyes as blood began to pour out of his now broken nose. 

"Enough!" Charlie was barely aware of Professor McGonagall's voice, and the loud, shrill sound of Professor Hooch's whistle. He also thought he heard Tonks crying. "Whatever is going on here?"

"Weasley accused us of cheating!" one of the other Hufflepuffs explained. "Tonks was trying to defend us—"

"Miss Tonks, stop that snivelling and tell me what happened. Poppy, please take care of Mr Weasley."

As Tonks hiccupped out an answer to McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey appeared at Charlie's side, speaking to him gently. He yelped in agony as she touched his nose, and then pressed a phial of a bitter tasting potion to his lips. Thankfully, the searing pain began to abate as she murmured a spell before handing him a clean handkerchief to wipe up the blood. 

Charlie managed to get to his feet, although he still felt a bit wonky. Glancing down, he saw his Quidditch uniform was covered in blood. He supposed he must look a right mess. Meanwhile, Tonks was sobbing loudly, her Hufflepuff team mates comforting her as best they could. Charlie's fingers curled into fists — if anyone deserved sympathy, it was him. _He_ was the injured party, not _her_. However, before he could say anything, McGonagall came striding towards him, her eyes blazing with anger behind her spectacles.

"Charles Weasley, what in Merlin's name did think you were doing just now?"

"Doing?" he spluttered. "I was just defending my team's honour, Professor! We shouldn't have lost that game to those cheating bas—erm, _badgers_. Didn't you see what they—?"

McGonagall huffed in annoyance, then cut him off. "The Hufflepuff team won that game fairly and squarely. If there were any concerns about cheating or fouls, you should have spoken to me after the game. In private. Not get yourself into a brawl on the pitch like a common Quidditch hooligan."

"But—"

"As team Captain, I expect you to set an example to the rest of the players, not behave like a delinquent at the first sign of defeat. If you don't think you can handle the responsibility of acting like an adult, I'm certain I can find someone else to take on the job."

"Of course I can!" Charlie broke in, his temper starting to rise again. How could McGonagall even think that about him? He was sixteen years old, nearly seventeen, and a full grown wizard. Not some stupid kid.

"You'll have to prove that to me, Mr. Weasley. Right now, I suggest you go back to your dorm and clean yourself up. I'll see you in my office for detention every night this week, and," McGonagall heaved a sigh, "as much as it pains me to do this, you will sit out the next week's worth of practices. Perhaps some time away from the game will teach you to control your temper, and give you some perspective."

It was as if she'd kicked him right in the gut. "You can't do that! We're already last in the standings! Without me, the team'll never—"

"Mr Weasley, I am well aware of Gryffindor's standing in the school Quidditch league. That as may be, but _you_ will not be stepping another foot onto this pitch until I allow you to come back." McGonagall's tone told him she would brook no further argument from him. "Do I have to make it a fortnight off?"

" _She_ punched _me!_ " Charlie reminded her, trying not to sound petulant, and failing miserably.

"And you clearly provoked her. Before you utter another word, Weasley, I will tell you that Miss Tonks will be joining you in detention. I'm hardly letting her off scot free. I will _not_ have students beating one another to a pulp whilst I am still Deputy Headmistress at this school. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," he replied, casting his eyes downward, the very picture of contrition, even if he was still seething inside.

"Very well, Weasley. Run along and get yourself cleaned up. I'll see you directly after dinner."

~*~

A hot bath followed by a hot meal had done nothing to raise Charlie's spirits or assuage his anger. He barely had an appetite, just picking at his beef stew while he sat at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the stares and whispers of his House mates. He was well aware that they were cross with him for rowing with that bratty Tonks, and putting their House standing in jeopardy.

Unable to stave off the inevitable, Charlie rose from the table, and grabbed up his things. 

"Mum is going to kill you, you know." Percy was suddenly blocking Charlie's way, blinking behind his horn-rimmed glasses like a smarmy owl. Annoying, know-it-all, Third-year Percy was the bane of Charlie's existence. All of their other siblings felt the same. Even little Ginny. Three years his junior, Percy was already nearly as tall as Charlie, yet another reason Charlie couldn't stand the swotty git. 

"If Mum hears about this from anyone whose name isn't McGonagall, I'm going to murder _you_ ," Charlie growled. 

To his relief, Percy blanched, taking a step back to let Charlie pass. "You know I w-wouldn't really..." Percy stammered.

"You'd better not. That goes for the pair of them too." With a cant of his head, Charlie indicated eleven year old Fred and George, who were watching the proceedings, and whispering to each other. "Tell 'em I said so."

"R-right. Of course, Charlie. I'll make sure they keep their mouths shut."

In actuality, Charlie would never have hurt a hair on any of his younger siblings' respective heads, but this wasn't the time to fess up to that. As second oldest, he had to keep his younger brothers and baby sister in line or they'd walk all over him. 

"See that you do." Charlie gave Percy a final glare before stalking off to McGonagall's office. 

McGonagall was already waiting for him, her demeanour chilly enough to send shivers up Charlie's spine – despite the roaring fire burning in the fireplace. "Sit, Weasley," she ordered, pointing to a set of desks and chairs. 

Charlie scrambled over to one of them, quickly dumping his book bag on the ground, and took a seat. 

"Good. Now you will stay there quietly until Miss Tonks arrives."

He tried not to fidget, the chair seat hard and uncomfortable against his arse. Could McGonagall have charmed the seat? That didn't seem like her style, but it felt far more impossible to stay still than usual. 

"Sorry I'm late, Professor!" Tonks exclaimed as she came tearing into the room, looking a bit harried. Somehow one of her feet got tangled on the edge of the rug, causing her to trip. Tonks managed to grab the door frame, barely remaining upright, but her bag went flying across the floor, the contents spilling everywhere.

"Miss Tonks!" McGonagall glared at her, then cast a disdainful glance at the clutter on her floor. "Have you no decorum?"

Bright red spots bloomed on Tonks' pale cheeks, her dark eyes welling up with tears. Charlie bit at his lower lip, doing his best not to snigger at her clumsiness. She wasn't so cocky now, was she? "S-sorry." 

"Please pick up that mess, then take your seat."

With a nod, Tonks dropped to her knees, cramming her possessions back into her book bag with lightning speed. Finally, hugging her bag to her chest as if her life depended on it, she rushed to her seat. 

Charlie couldn't help but notice she hadn't even looked at him once, let alone acknowledged his presence. _Snobby cow,_ he thought.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now then, hand over your wands to me."

Tonks started to open her mouth in protest, but was cut off before she could say a word.

"I shall return them at the end of your detention session tonight," the professor explained. She pulled out two plain black quills and two large rolls of parchment. "You'll both be using these to write lines. I want to make certain you're doing it the old-fashioned way. _Without_ magic." She handed a set of quill and parchment to Tonks, then another to Charlie. "You may use your own ink. I want you both to sit here quietly and write "I will not fight with other students" one hundred times."

"But—" Tonks started.

McGonagall gave her a withering look. "In silence, Miss Tonks. I think the pair of you have said — and done — quite enough today. Don't you?"

"Yes, Professor." The pink haired witch pulled out a bottle of ink from her bag, opened it with extreme care, as if she were afraid she might spill it, and dipped her quill in. With a sigh of resignation, she began to write.

Charlie was peeved that Tonks hadn't even looked his way, let alone apologised for punching him in the nose. In spite of Madam Pomfrey's ministrations, it still was sore to the touch. Sticking his hand into his bag, he rooted around for a bottle of ink. Finally his fingers made contact with the cool glass bottle, and he pulled it out to set it on the desk in front of him.

Casting a sidelong glance at Tonks, Charlie watched her surreptitiously. She let out a little sniff, her face screwed up in deep concentration as she wrote the lines. Why did she have to make such annoying sounds? Why couldn't she act like a proper girl, anyway? Or at least try to dress like one?

Absently, she raked her fingers through her hair, causing it to spike even more. She was wearing a ratty Hufflepuff cardigan over a tight, faded Hobgoblins t-shirt and well-worn blue jeans, a pair of scuffed black combat boots on her feet. Charlie couldn't stop himself from staring, or wondering why her t-shirt seemed so much tighter than her baggy Quidditch robes at the match, her breasts larger and more distracting. Tonks made no secret of the fact that she was a Metamorphmagus; had she made her tits bigger on purpose? Had she done that just to mess him about?

The briefest thought of Tonks' tits made Charlie squirm, the dull throb of arousal starting in his groin. Embarrassed, he squeezed his legs together, willing his cock to behave before it betrayed him entirely. Charlie liked girls, and he liked breasts, particularly nice round firm ones that looked as though they'd fit right in his hands if he...

"Charlie Weasley!" McGonagall's voice was like a bucket of icy water being thrown at him, making him jump. "Eyes on your own work, if you please! Have you even written one word yet?"

The admonishment had startled his cock into submission, clearing his brain from his far too lurid thoughts. Charlie thought he heard Tonks sniggering, but he ignored her, grabbing up the black quill , and immediately started to scrawl the lines McGonagall had set them. He forced himself to focus on the parchment and only the parchment, blocking out everything else. 

Especially Nymphadora Tonks, and her incredible bristols.

"Professor, I'm finished," Tonks said softly. Charlie looked up, surprised to see that almost an hour had gone by. To his dismay, he was still not finished, and there was still his homework to contend with after he was done here. 

"Bring it up here." 

Tonks picked up her parchment gingerly, taking care as she rolled it up. She walked up to McGonagall's desk, placing it in the older witch's outstretched hands. 

McGonagall quickly unrolled it, looking over Tonks' handiwork with pursed lips. "What precisely is the meaning of this?"

"Meaning of what, Professor? I did exactly what you asked." Tonks sounded a little too innocent in Charlie's estimation. "Exactly one hundred lines."

"In bright purple ink."

"Well," Tonks drew in a deep breath, and replied, "you never said we weren't allowed to use colours."

McGonagall's eyebrows shot up somewhere into the recesses of her hairline, and for an instant, Charlie thought her head might explode. Instead, she said, sounding almost like she was being strangled. "No, I suppose I didn't. You may go. But as of tomorrow, you use _only_ black ink. Do you understand, Miss Tonks?"

"Of course, Professor. Anything you say." Tonks' eyes were twinkling, although her expression was completely solemn. 

Charlie's mouth hung open as he watched her gather her things, then leave, trying to ignore the hypnotic sway of her hips as she exited the room. Had Tonks really got away with cheeking _McGonagall_? And lived to tell the tale?

"Mr Weasley, I suggest you spend more time on doing your lines and less time mooning over Miss Tonks like a lovestruck mooncalf or we'll be here all night. I for one would like to get some sleep before dawn."

"OI!" Charlie was so startled, his hand shook, and he managed to splatter ink all over his parchment. "What? I don't—"

"In my day, when a boy was interested in a girl, he asked her for a date rather than accusing her of cheating at Quidditch," said McGonagall mildly. For a brief instant, Charlie thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch, as if she were suppressing a smile. 

"I don't want to ask her out!" Charlie insisted. "She's annoying. And snotty! And mouthy! And..and a Hufflepuff!"

"Charlie Weasley, you do realise you've spent most of the evening gawping at Miss Tonks rather than paying attention to your work? I am well aware of the signs of desperate longing when I see them." McGonagall came closer, then snatched up his parchment, peering at it through her glasses. "You've managed about fifty lines. That will be enough for tonight — you may make up the rest tomorrow."

"I, erm...yes, Professor. Thank you." Charlie wasn't going to let the opportunity to leave slip away. Part of him was relieved by the news, another part livid that she could even think he fancied Nymphadora Tonks.

He wasted no time in stuffing his things back into his school bag, and raced out the door before McGonagall changed her mind. As he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Charlie mused over McGonagall's words. There was absolutely no way in the world he was interested in Tonks.

Even if she did have magnificent tits. And an arse that couldn't be missed in those tight jeans she'd worn tonight...and, he had to admit to himself, however grudgingly, that there was something extremely admirable about a girl who would even try to cheek McGonagall, let alone succeed.

Or stand up to a berk who was accusing her of cheating, and punching him in the face. 

Perhaps tomorrow he'd apologise to her for _that_. It was the least he could do under the circumstances.

Perhaps he'd ask her if, after dinner, she'd like to walk with him to McGonagall's office for their mutual detention. Just as friends, of course. 

There was no way he was interested in Tonks. McGonagall didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about. She couldn't possibly.

 

*Haversacking: a common Quidditch foul that consists of a Chaser still holding to or touching the Quaffle as it goes through the goal hoop.


End file.
